Closer
by strangersinthelight
Summary: Derek and Lydia AU. Set at the end of episode 105. She took my heart, I think she took my soul.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is an AU. It starts at the end of Ep. 105. I'll be working some of the events of later episodes into this story, but they won't be exactly like they were in the show. Title is from the song _Closer_ by Kings of Leon. Oh, and I own nothing. Not the song and not the characters. Except for Frank. And I don't really want him. I don't remember the show making it clear when Lydia's parents divorced, but for the purpose of this story, it's been a while. At least five years. And I've given her a step-father. There are hints of sexual abuse, but nothing graphic.

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><p>She stared at her reflection in the mirror.<p>

Her make-up was perfectly applied... to both of her faces. She suppressed a giggle that wanted desperately to emerge.

The glass rippled and she pressed her hand against it. The waves were making her dizzy.

Her gaze caught on a flash of red... _red_. Wasn't there supposed to be something about red? Red and glowing and not possible. Not possible. Crazy. She wasn't crazy.

She leaned against her hand, looked into her own eyes, "You saw nothing." She stared back at herself and steadied her voice. "Nothing."

"They say talking to yourself is the first sign."

She stiffened at his voice. Hand falling from the mirror to clench in front of her. A fist to stop the tremor.

"Do you answer yourself, too?" he smiled at his own joke as she watched him warily from the mirror.

"I'm not crazy, Frank." Weak. Weak voice betraying her. Weak, weak, weak...

"And these," he picked up the pill bottles on her bedside table, "would suggest otherwise."

"Where's my mother?" she asked. Eyes still tracking him through the looking glass as he moved closer.

"Don't you remember?" he smiled at her. "Parent-teacher conference tonight. Your father's with her. It's too bad, really," he moved behind her, "that he can spare time for that, but not to come here. He just doesn't love you, Princess. Not like he should."

His hand reached out and landed on her shoulder.

Control. Control.

But she couldn't. And a wave of revulsion passed over her so strongly that she had to close her eyes. Bile rose in the back of her throat, but she swallowed down the reprieve. It would only be a short one.

_Stop. Don't. I'll tell. I'll tell them –_

_Who would believe you? Who would care? _

She couldn't. Couldn't take this anymore. Couldn't let him –

If she did... if she did, the next time would be one pill too many.

"Don't," she moved away from. Away from his touch and his eyes that flayed the clothing from her body and the sanity from her mind.

"_Don't_?" he mocked. His eyes flashed as he stepped forward and she didn't have to remember red. The monster was always under her own bed. Had always been there.

"You think you're too good for me, Princess?" he grabbed her arms and brought her closer.

She blinked up at him, brought him back into focus. Loose lips and too many pills. Her own form of liquid courage.

"Yes."

Stars had never looked so ugly as they burst behind her eyelids. She sagged against the wall. Reached up and gently felt near her hairline where she had connected with it. There would be blood.

But she didn't care. Didn't care. Because it wouldn't just be hers this time.

"Get away from me," she forced out. Tried to stand upright, but had to lean heavily against her desk. Pills and head trauma never mix well.

"And why would I do that?" he asked, hand closing around her arm once again.

She couldn't. Couldn't do this anymore.

The vase was cool in her hands. Pretty and white and she really did like it. Sorry, Daddy. But it was for a good cause.

She turned and swung at the same time. Knew it connected. Heard it shatter. But didn't stick around long enough to find out.

Both hands clutched at the bannister as she half ran, half stumbled her way down the stairs. The time it took her to fumble with the locks forced unwanted visions of red.

_Better the devil you know, Lydia._

"No," she gasped out as she finally managed to free herself. "Not this time."

She ran. And ran. And ran.

Was he behind her? Was that pounding his footsteps or her heart?

She ran. For hours. For days. For years.

_Please let it be years._

Leaves crunched beneath her feet and then she was falling. Falling until she caught herself on... steps.

She looked up. Knew this house. Knew she should keep running.

Heard a noise behind her. Not him. It couldn't be him.

She scrambled up the steps and fell against the door. Shoved it open with a strength born of desperation and fading adrenaline. Closing it quickly, she sagged against it, straining to hear any sound beyond her breathing and her heart.

There was nothing.

Quiet.

She had to be quiet. Knew she couldn't run anymore as the floor rose up to meet her. She scrambled backwards. Watching the door as she backed herself into a corner. Drawing her knees up to her chest and trying to stop the tremors that were shaking her bones and rattling her teeth.

Quiet.

Her foot was caught on something. Reaching down, her fingers curled around... leather?

She didn't care. Didn't care what it was. Just pulled it tightly to herself. She had to be quiet. Had to stop the shaking.

She stared at the door until it became two. Then three. Then nothing as her body finally stopped cooperating and her eyelids slid shut.

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><p>Someone was in his house.<p>

He could smell them. Fear and blood and despair. It made his muscles bunch as he questioned his own sanity. There were ghosts in this house, but he'd never been able to smell them before.

He shook his head to clear it and relaxed only slightly when another sound reached him. A heartbeat. Beating like a hummingbird. Ghosts didn't have those.

He made his way cautiously forward. He didn't think there was a threat from the squatter, but his earlier meeting with that blond bitch had made him even more wary. A trap was never out of the question where that psycho cunt was involved.

He felt his fangs lengthen at the thought. Claws digging into the floor where he crouched as he forced himself to rein in the change.

Control it.

The hummingbird heart had slowed. It was almost at a normal pace. The breathing had evened out. Were they asleep?

He found the thought vaguely amusing. _He_ couldn't even sleep in this house.

He made his way around the corner and... stopped. This was unexpected.

A girl. A girl, curled up in the corner and using his jacket, _his jacket_, as a blanket.

What the hell?

He remained crouched and moved forward slowly.

Her body was curled in on itself. Knees drawn up to her chin and she was slumped against the wall. Her hair covered most of her face and he reached out slowly and moved it back.

There was blood on her face. A thin line of it ran down the right side from a cut above her hairline. His gaze tracked the trail before moving on.

Familiar. She was familiar.

Not extremely so. A fleeting glimpse maybe. Where?

The puppy. A friend of the puppy's crush.

The muscles in his back knotted up and his claws returned. He strained to hear anything that might signal some kind of trap. But there was nothing. No other heartbeats. No other smells. Just the girl.

What was she doing here? She didn't belong here. He fought to control the rage, but it was a losing battle. Just because he couldn't smell the others didn't mean she wasn't here for him. What the fuck did they want from him? They had already taken the others. He had nothing left...

The growl was torn slowly from his chest and she opened her eyes. She blinked, eyes unfocused before she was able to see him.

_Fear_.

He almost wanted to retch from the smell of the fear that was rolling off of her in waves.

"No," her voice was weak, her movements clumsy as she tried to move back. Move away from him. But there was nowhere to go. Her back was already against the wall and she could only push against it ineffectually as another soft, "Please," was pulled from her.

He tried to ignore the fear. Hated the way it overpowered every other scent. He had to know why she was here. What did she want from him?

He moved closer. Delving beneath the fear, he shifted through the other smells. Blood and drugs of some kind. Leaves and dirt and tears. Lavender and... him. She smelled like him.

He fought the lengthening of his fangs.

Control it.

He reached out and ripped the jacket from her. Had to get it away. Didn't want her to carry his scent.

The action provoked a stifled sob from her. A barely heard whimper that made him shake. Made him close his eyes and breathe. But all he could smell was her covered in him. Him. _His..._

He crowded closer. Hands shooting out and wrapping around her knees, he pulled her to him. Legs on either side of him, one hand in her hair and the other low on her back, pulling her closer.

Her hands shoved at his chest, but humans were weak creatures and she especially so. It had no more effect than the brush of butterfly wings and only lasted a moment before she went limp in his arms.

He stared down at her. At the pulse beating in her soft neck. He wanted to mark her. Sink his teeth in, break the skin and swallow her whole.

He tilted her head and leaned down. Licked her face from her cheek to her hair. Removed the blood and rested his forehead against her temple as he ground against her and panted and fought for control.

_Control it._

He growled low and clutched her to him before he was able to slowly, slowly unlock his muscles. His body shook in protest as he lowered her to the floor.

Backing away from her, he turned and stumbled blindly. Leaning against the wall, he struggled to regain the breath that had escaped him.

What the _fuck_ was that?

Turning his head to look at her, his body strung out and his eyes flickering, he closed his eyes and turned away. Head resting against the wall as he tried to breathe.

He would have almost preferred dealing with the psycho bitch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Thank you for the reviews. I really appreciate it. I still don't own anything.

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><p>He leaned back against the staircase and watched her.<p>

Watched her as she turned to marble in the pale glow of the moon. Watched her as her shivering increased. Watched her as she curled in on herself, knees drawn up and hands tucked against her chest. Watched her until he could bear her shaking no longer.

With a frown of self-disgust, he moved to drape his jacket back over her. Careful not to touch any part of her before moving back to his position of vigilance against the staircase.

He could still taste her in his mouth and he swallowed reflexively. Suppressing a shudder, he clenched his fists and fought not to crawl back to her. To lean over her and find out if the rest of her tasted as sweet.

He did not need this... _distraction_ right now.

He had to find the one who killed his sister. And he had to kill them, slowly. Then there were the hunters, who had to be dealt with before they dealt with him. And Scott, who was running around like a damn dog in heat and couldn't be trusted not to change and rip someone's throat out before he realized what he was doing.

_Fuck_.

His head fell back and thudded softly against the wall. He didn't have time for this. He didn't even know what _this_ was. He didn't even know the girl. Had only heard her voice once through a haze of dizziness and pain. She was nothing to him. Nothing.

He wasn't some fucking puppy who couldn't control his baser urges around a pretty face. And just because his hands itched to touch her and he had to dig his heels into the floor more than once to keep from moving closer to her meant nothing. Nothing.

And so he sat and watched her. Watched her as the light from the moon waned. Watched her as the shadows and light from the sun replaced it on her face. Watched her as she started to stir. Watched her as her eyes slowly opened while he tried to calm the beating of a heart that was suddenly pounding too fast.

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><p>Her head hurt. And her mattress was really hard. And what was that smell?<p>

Cracking her eyes open, she blinked in confusion and looked around her. Where was she? How did she get here? Who... she sucked in a breath when her eyes landed on him. Digging her heels in, she pushed herself back against the wall. She could feel her heart pounding, pounding too hard and too loud as she clutched the jacket to her like a shield.

She stared at him in silence as he stared back at her. Was this even real? Was she still dreaming? But he banished that thought with a quiet, "What are you doing here?"

He'd practically growled at her and she welcomed the slight irritation that shot through her. She didn't know what she was doing here, but there was no reason for him to sound so mean. She gave the place a skeptical look, it wasn't like she was here to steal anything. It wasn't like she would ever be caught dead somewhere like this on purpose. It wasn't her fault she couldn't remember...

She closed her eyes against the pounding of her head as hazy images flashed behind her eyelids. Pills and vases and monsters... oh, God. Had she killed him? What if she had? What should she do? No one would believe her. No one.

Her breath came faster, the panic rising in the back of her throat, threatening to choke her. There was no one. Not a single person who would help her. They wouldn't even want to. Would she go to jail? The dizziness closed in on her as she tried to ground herself to something. Anything.

"Answer me," his voice shot through her panic and jerked her eyes open. He was closer. Half-way across the room now and she swallowed hard. Fought back the fear and nausea and struggled to focus on the irritation she had felt earlier. Focus on something else.

"I don't know," she said, standing slowly and putting a hand against the wall to steady herself. Watching as he stood also.

"You're lying."

She narrowed her eyes at him as her chin lifted a notch. She knew where she was now, knew who he was. Derek Hale. Brooding loner and suspected sister killer. She remembered the gossip, she also remembered that he'd been cleared of the murder. Still, it didn't matter if she was lying. It was none of his business. The fact that she was in his house was incidental, really. Her voice was a familiar mixture of condescension and skepticism as she asked, "And how would you know that?"

He didn't like that. She could see it in the clenching of his jaw and his own narrowed gaze. Could hear it in his voice when he said, "Isn't that what liars do?"

_Who would believe you?_

"I'm not a liar," she said, fighting to control her shaking voice and failing miserably. She edged closer to the door, eyes on him as he followed her movements.

"And you're not a thief, either," his voice stopped her before she could reach it.

"Like there's anything here I'd want to steal," she shot back, her voice regaining some of its former strength.

"That's mine," he jerked his chin toward the jacket she still held in her clenched hands.

She looked down at it. Pulled it tighter to her for an instant before tossing it to him with a clipped, "Fine."

He glared at her as he caught it. "Now get out," his voice definitely a growl this time.

"Like I would want to spend any more time here than I need to," she threw at him.

"Then why are you still here?" he mocked.

She drew in a sharp breath and used the flash of anger to center herself. "I'm going. Trust me, ending up like your sister is not on my list of things to do." The sharp words left her mouth before she could think better of it. It probably wasn't the smartest thing to say to him, especially if he really _had_ murdered his sister.

He started toward her and she backed away, hand reaching blindly behind her before finding the door. He stopped before reaching her and seemed to gather himself. She could see his jaw clenching before his lips curled in a sneer, "From what I've seen, the list of what you won't... _do_ is pretty damn short." The innuendo in his voice left little doubt as to what he was referring to, and she stiffened as he continued, "Couldn't you find anyone last night who wanted a _little taste_?"

She didn't stay to hear more, just turned and fumbled with the door, blinking the wetness from her eyes before escaping outside.

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><p>"<em>Fuck<em>," his voice echoed in the empty room.

He hadn't missed the smell of tears before she left. Or the overwhelming shame that preceded them. He laced his fingers behind his neck and tilted his head back as he tried to ignore the hollow feeling in his chest. The feeling that was growing stronger with her absence. The same feeling that had him half-way across the floor after she had first spotted him, wanting to do something, _anything_, to stop the fear and panic that had been rolling off of her.

Ignore it. Ignore it...

"Fuck," he muttered again before following her out.

"What are you doing?" he asked, catching up to her easily.

She kept her face forward, eyes straight ahead, and he didn't think she was going to answer until a terse, "Walking," finally escaped her.

"You can't walk all the way home," he countered.

"Why not?" she still wouldn't look at him. "I ran all the way here."

"So, you do remember," he said.

She finally looked at him, her eyes jerking to his face. She was jumpy, gauging his reaction he supposed, and he kept his expression neutral. It surprised him, how much he wanted her to not be afraid of him. Staring at her as she blatantly tried to stifle the urge to run, he had the wholly unwelcome thought that she looked as though she'd never lived a single day of her life without being afraid.

He suddenly wanted to hit something. Badly.

"I'll drive you home," he kept his voice low. Gentle. Or as close as he could get. He'd never been a nice guy. Never tried to be. Never wanted to be. But he didn't want her afraid.

"Why?" she asked, suspicion now replacing the panic.

"Because I'm going anyway and I'm not leaving you alone near my house." He hadn't been leaving, but he doubted she'd react well to the truth. If he could even tell her the truth, since he wasn't sure himself. Either way, he didn't think 'Because I don't want you to be afraid,' would go over that well.

She raised that condescending eyebrow at him again and he just barely managed to stifle the urge to growl at her. At least it worked, even if she did walk toward his car like she was doing him a favor by allowing him to chauffeur her ass around. At least it was a nice ass.

She opened the car door and his gaze shot back up to her face as she turned to him, "I don't have cooties, you know."

"What?" he asked, off kilter from staring at the way her hips moved when she walked then hearing her talk like a first grader.

"You can wear that without having to launder it first," she nodded at the jacket he still had slung over one arm before getting in his car and slamming the door.

He stared down at it before warily putting it on as he walked around the car. Her scent was all over it. Every time he moved he could smell her, and he was almost certain that no amount of washing would get her out.

He was a little surprised the door handle wasn't ripped off when he jerked it open.

They sat in silence except for her occasional one-word directions. She seemed to draw in on herself as she stared out her window, the closer they got to her house the quieter she became.

He stared at her out of the corner of his eye. Watching her more than he was the road. He didn't like her silence. Didn't like the resignation that seemed to have taken the place of her earlier panic. He'd rather deal with her condescending attitude than this silent misery that made him want to snatch her close and just keep driving.

He shook his head slightly. Those were _not_ thoughts he could afford to have right now, or ever really.

"What?" she asked, and he turned to look at her. She'd turned away from the window and was watching him.

He stared at her, at the circles under her eyes and her pale face. Stared a little too long as her brow wrinkled in confusion and she shifted somewhat uncomfortably in her seat. "You have twigs in your hair," he blurted out.

She reached up a hesitant hand and ran her fingers cautiously through her hair. He noticed she avoided the knot he knew had to be there and he again had to fight the urge to press down on the accelerator.

"That's because I had to sleep on a dirty floor," she returned, but there was no heat in it this time. Only vague amusement.

"_My_ dirty floor," he felt compelled to remind her.

"Whatever," she countered softly with a small shrug and an almost smile.

They lapsed into another silence until she broke it with a soft question, "Why do you stay there?"

He glanced at her with narrowed eyes, but her gaze was open. She wasn't being nosy, wasn't trying to fish for answers she had no business knowing. She'd just asked a question. One that probably everyone wondered about. Truth be told, he wondered about it sometimes as well. But there was nowhere else he could go. Nowhere else he belonged.

"It's home," he finally managed to answer her, and she seemed satisfied with it because she resumed her earlier position and stared quietly out the window.

"Lydia," she said, her voice quiet.

He kept his eyes trained on the road as she turned her head to look at him, her gaze scanning his profile. He could feel her stare, could see her out of the corner of his eye as she shrugged, "Thought you might want to know the name of your... house guest," she finished lamely, a little flustered. He could see the faint blush spreading from her cheeks down to her neck and he resisted the urge to follow it further. He kept his mouth closed and his eyes on the road, giving a short nod of acknowledgment before she turned back to the window.

_Lydia._

"This is it," her voice interrupted the silence and he stopped the car.

She was reluctant to leave, and he was reluctant to let her. Her hand finally reached for the handle, and he had to tighten his own around the steering wheel when he noticed hers was shaking. This is not your problem, he reminded himself. She is not your problem. But repeating it didn't help and he finally gave a muttered, "You can come back," that stopped her half-way out the door.

"What?" she turned back to him.

"Not like there's a reason to lock the door," he shrugged, keeping his eyes forward. "You can come back, if you ever need to." He finally turned to look at her and she was staring at him, confusion and surprise and dawning understanding in her gaze.

She gave him a small smile before uttering a grateful, "Thank you." Her voice small, like a little girl's, and her confusion and surprise made him wonder just how often people were nice to her. Her gratitude made it seem like a rare thing.

Her gaze finally slid away from his and she took a hitching breath as she got out of his car. _Don't let her go. Don't let her go. Don't let her go._ He shoved the feeling down, digging his growing claws into his palms as she walked through her front door. Breathing deeply and shoving down on the accelerator before he could give in to the urge to follow her. To find the reason for her fear and make it bleed.

_Fuck_. This wasn't working. He could feel his fangs lengthening, his gaze sharpening as his breath came in shallower and faster pants the further away from her he drove.

He jerked the wheel and slammed on the brakes, stopping the car on the side of the road. Nearly ripping the door off in his haste to get out, he braced his hands on the hood and lowered his head, forcing himself to take deep breaths, to fight for a control that escaped him. He had to. He needed...

He turned and ran. Keeping to the trees, passing house after house, he let the reins slip on his control. He could smell her on his jacket with every breath and he bit back the howl that his throat ached to release. This was not a hunt. Not a chase. He just needed...

Reaching her backyard, he crouched down behind a tree and scanned the house. His gaze slid from window to window until – there. Second floor and to the right, he watched as she entered the room and shut the door behind her. Her fingers shook as she locked it before moving to sit on the edge of her bed.

She's fine, he tried to calm himself. Tried to push away from the tree and leave, but her head drooped forward, her arms wrapping around her stomach and he didn't need enhanced hearing to know that she was crying. Wracking sobs that shook her whole body. His claws gouged into the tree. _Stop._ She drew her knees up, head resting against them as she rocked back and forth. _Stop._ Her breath came in shallow gasps, the sobs robbing her of air. _Please. _

He half-rose from his crouch, muscles bunched, when her crying stopped. He remained where he was and listened as she took a deep breath, two, three. They were shaky, but she seemed to be calming and he let himself relax somewhat. His gaze remained on her as she stood up, hands wiping her face as she walked to the mirror. She brushed at the dirt on her shirt ineffectually before reaching for the hem and yanking it over her head.

His breath left him in what sounded suspiciously like a whine, though he would gut someone for saying it, and he was rather afraid that he had just killed the tree. He extracted his claws from the now much perforated tree, but couldn't make his eyes move away. Hell, he couldn't even blink. She was so fucking pretty.

The black lace of her bra stood out in stark contrast to the pale glow of her skin. He wanted to touch her. To place his hands on her stomach and see if her skin was as soft as it looked. To lick the fragile skin in the valley between her breasts. To kiss the sweet pink nipples that were visible to him through the sheer lace. To suck them in his mouth and make her scream as he spread her legs and –

She reached for the buttons on her jeans and he shuddered and clenched his teeth and fought not to come in his. _Fucking hell, _he took deep breaths as she removed her jeans, she'd turned him into a damn pervert. He swallowed hard, unsure whether he wanted her to stop or keep going when she turned away and walked into her bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

He pressed his forehead against the rough bark of the tree, willing himself to breathe, to control the change that he'd mastered as a child. That mastery seemed to have left him, though, and all he could see and smell and think was _her_ and why should he even have to control it because she was his... _his._

Pulling back, he slammed his forehead against the tree. He felt his skin split, smelled his own blood and made himself focus on the pain. Focus on anything other than her. It was weak, but it worked enough for him to calm, to slowly stand upright when he'd been worried he'd never be able to straighten up again.

He could feel his skin knitting back together and he drug the back of his hand across the newly healed wound, removing the blood as he turned from the window. Keeping his eyes forward, he moved slowly back through the trees. He couldn't stay any longer. He had obligations to fulfill, promises to keep, ghosts to lay down. He could not stay.

Fighting the urge to curse or whine or break down in tears with every step back toward his car, he looked down in mingled anger and frustration at the bulge in his jeans and had the wholly unwelcome thought that he was probably going to have to slam his dick in a fucking door before it was all over.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **The middle of this chapter starts up during episode 107, but in this story Lydia is separated from the others, as you'll read. Italics signifies a dream. Song is still _Closer_ by Kings of Leon. And I don't own it, or the show. Once again, I want to thank you for the reviews. They make me smile.

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><p>There were no police cars outside. She decided that was a good sign.<p>

She took deep breaths as she walked up to her front door and fought the urge to vomit on the welcome mat. His eyes were still on her, though, and she refused, absolutely refused to throw-up in front of him. She wouldn't have to worry about prison then because she would have already died from complete and utter mortification.

_You can come back_, he had said. _You can come back. _She grasped the words like a lifeline, an anchor, a mantra repeated in her head to keep her from screaming as she raised a shaking hand and opened her door.

Only silence greeted her. Stepping over the threshold, she looked around warily and, finding no one, she closed the door behind her. Walking forward slowly, her eyes darted around quickly, trying to look in every direction at once. She stopped and closed her eyes, bringing her hand to her head as she fought off waves of dizziness.

Hearing a steady tapping from the kitchen, she slowly made her way forward. She cautiously looked around the corner and allowed herself to relax marginally when she saw her mother. The tapping was from the knife she was holding, the sharp edge of it meeting the cutting board with every downward stroke through the carrot.

Her mother glanced up and gave her a cursory once-over before returning to her cutting. "You could have at least called, Lydia, and told me where you were."

She swallowed hard and waited, for what she wasn't sure. Maybe an 'I was worried,' or a 'What happened?' At this point, she'd even take a 'You look like hell.' Nothing was forthcoming, though, and she hadn't really expected it. It still caused an ache in her stomach that she rubbed at absently, wondering how these people still had the power to wound her. Just because it scabbed over didn't mean it was healed.

"Sure, Mom," she managed to force out. "You seem really worried."

"What do you want me to do, Lydia?" she sighed and rolled her eyes. "This isn't the first time that you," she emphasized the word by pointing in her direction with the knife, "have been out all night. Excuse me if I don't seem concerned enough for you. Call you father if you need sympathy, if you can tear him away from his child-bride," she began viciously cutting a tomato. "Just don't be too loud, whatever you do. Frank's been in bed all day with a migraine."

So, he wasn't dead. Turning from the kitchen, she made her way slowly up the stairs, more from her off-kilter balance than from any further need to be quiet. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not. At least she wouldn't go to prison. And maybe, she tried to convince herself, maybe he would leave her alone now. She wasn't buying it, not her mind that told her she was being an idiot and that she had bought herself a short reprieve at most, nor her body that she couldn't seem to make stop shaking as she finally reached her room and locked the door behind her.

What was she supposed to do? Sitting on the edge of her bed and staring at nothing, she didn't know what to do. The room began to blur around her. She was tired. The first tear fell and it was like dominoes. She couldn't stop, couldn't control herself, couldn't breathe. She was just so tired.

She could feel the nausea rising, knew she'd be sick for hours if she didn't stop it now. She forced herself to swallow, to breathe deep and calm down and remember that she wasn't stupid. No matter what anyone else said, she wasn't stupid and she could do this. She could push it down and put on a pretty face and bide her time, because it wouldn't be like this forever. It couldn't be like this forever.

Pushing up from the bed, she wiped the tears away and looked at herself in the mirror. The sight almost made her start weeping again. Her mascara was smeared, her face was dirty, and it looked as though an entire family of rats had taken up residence in her hair. She could barely stand to look at herself like this, and the fact that Derek Hale had seen her in such disarray made her want to roll over and die of embarrassment.

Not like it should matter that he had. She brushed at a stain on her shirt before ripping it over her head and throwing it to the floor with perhaps more force than was warranted. He'd been a jerk to her, kicking her out of that hovel he had the audacity to call a house and practically calling her a whore in the process. He'd been mean and cruel and angry. Not at the end, though, she reminded herself as she stepped out of her jeans.

Moving into her bathroom, she shut the door and turned the hot water on full blast. As steam filled the room, her thoughts turned back to him. _You can come back._ She sniffled as she removed the rest of her clothes. He'd been nice to her then, when she'd done nothing to deserve it. Barely turning the cold water on, she stood under the spray and stifled a wince. She hadn't been nice to him. Just the opposite. She'd broken into his house, been rude and condescending, and ended their conversation by implying he'd killed his sister. A sister that he probably loved and missed. She sniffled again and wiped her eyes. She'd really been a bitch to him.

And, yeah, there had been extenuating circumstances, but he didn't know that. All he knew was that some creeper had crashed at his house and then gotten nasty with him when he'd had the normal reaction of anger at the situation. He could have had her arrested for trespassing. And he had made her cry, but he acted as though that bothered him, as though he'd been sorry for it. Grabbing the shampoo, she worked it carefully through her hair, avoiding the tender area near her hairline. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had been sorry for making her cry. Rinsing off, she came to the regrettable conclusion that this was probably the first time anyone had cared.

And he had, or at least he seemed to. He'd come after her. He hadn't apologized, but he'd offered her a ride when it would have been more than fair for him to make her walk. He'd commented on her appearance, but he hadn't insulted her, it had felt almost like teasing. He'd answered the question that she'd had no right to ask. He hadn't told her to shove it, or any number of other things that he probably should have. Instead, he'd given her the truth. And when they reached her house and she'd been so terrified she almost couldn't breathe, he'd told her she could come back.

She'd almost cried from relief and gratitude. Stepping out of the shower, she toweled off and pulled her pajamas on absently. She couldn't remember the last time someone had been nice to her for no reason and she'd barely been able to refrain from throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on for dear life. In her current state, he probably would have needed the jaws of life to pry her away from him.

It wasn't quite dark outside, but she didn't care. She lay in bed and curled up on her side, pulling the blanket around her like a cocoon while her thoughts turned back to him until her eyelids grew heavy and finally closed.

_She was running. Running through the dark as fast and as hard as she could, but it didn't matter. He was going to catch her. He always caught her._

_She wanted to sob, to scream for someone to help her. Please, please help her. But there was no one. There never had been, and she knew it was just a matter of time before even more of herself was stripped away. There would be nothing left of her soon._

_She could hear him behind her, getting closer and closer until – a growl ripped through the night air and she stopped. Turning slowly to face the monster, she looked back at him as he started toward her and she knew what was going to happen. She didn't want to cry, didn't want to give him that power, but she couldn't stop the tears as he reached for her and then – he never touched her. Another low growl, a flash of blue, and then red. Nothing but red spilling from his throat and onto the ground. _

_She couldn't move, couldn't tear her gaze away until a faint rumbling drew her attention from the monster that was just a man. The rumble sounded again and she recognized it as a low growl, a growl that was emitted from... she didn't know who. He was turned away from her, his breathing heavy, his hands twitching slightly as blood dripped from his fingers._

_She should run. She knew she should. But she couldn't make herself. He had slayed the dragon. Didn't that earn a favor? She moved slowly forward, reaching out her hand warily, she slid her fingers tentatively along his. Unmindful of the blood, she grasped his hand and tugged until he turned to face her. His head was bowed, cast in shadows and all she could see when she looked up into his face was his eyes. Glowing and blue and so beautiful. _

"_You killed the monster for me," she whispered in awe, unflinching as he raised his other hand and ran his fingers along her cheek, leaving blood and tears in their wake. _

"_I'll kill them all for you," he promised and she shivered as he drug his thumb across her bottom lip, tasting of salt and copper._

She jerked awake, breathing heavily as her eyes darted around the room. She saw nothing in the early morning light, just her walls staring back at her as she allowed her breathing to slow. Her mind took her back to the dream and she rubbed her stomach absently as warmth began to pool there. A smile spread across her face and she let out a giddy bubble of laughter. The monster didn't get her this time. He didn't get her. She wanted to laugh in sheer relief that this was at least one morning when she wouldn't wake choking on her own screams.

She wanted to stay in bed all day, to bask in the feeling of being happy and protected for once in her life, but too soon her alarm went off and she emerged from the blankets to get dressed. She'd told Alison they could double tonight after school. She didn't really want to, but at least it would get her out of the house and away from... things.

Her earlier feelings of safety threatened to bubble up again, but she pushed them down as she perfectly applied her make-up. She couldn't allow those feelings to take over, to make her vulnerable. He, whoever he was, couldn't protect her from inside of a dream. She had to be able to guard herself.

Stepping into her shoes, she turned to the mirror. Her clothes were perfect, her hair was perfect, and she leaned forward to apply another coat of lip gloss. Staring into the mirror, she took a deep breath before starting for her door. And if she thought about blue eyes and blood a little too much throughout the day, she chose not to dwell on it.

* * *

><p>They turned left. What kind of idiot turns left? Everyone knows you go right.<p>

The thoughts racing through her mind as she ran down the hall made her question her sanity. She was trapped in the school. At night. With something chasing her, probably with murder in mind, and all she can think about is every horror movie she's ever seen where the one who gets separated from the group is the one they find in pieces the next day.

And why had she worn these freaking shoes? Every step she took sounded like a gunshot to her. She might as well start screaming, _'Here I am! Come kill me!'_ Reaching down, she ripped them off without slowing down.

Rounding the corner, she could see double-doors to the outside at the end of the hall. If she could just make it outside and to Jackson's car, he'd left the keys in it. She was almost certain. But what if _it _was out there? The person or thing or whatever it was. She'd barely gotten a glimpse as they ran from the room, but the memory of the flash of red she had seen brought her up short before reaching the doors.

She tried to slow her breathing as she looked behind her. Nothing was there. Moving cautiously forward, she tried to look in every direction at once before freezing when the sound of snarling reached her ears. It echoed through the empty hallways, making her unsure of where it was coming from, but it sounded like it was getting louder.

_Please be unlocked, _she silently prayed as she turned the handle of the door closest to her. It opened with a muffled click that made her wince as she silently darted into the room and shut the door as quietly as she could. Standing in complete darkness, she reached in her pocket for her cell-phone. It gave enough light for her to see that the door had a lock on it which she turned before slowly backing away. She could just make out the books stacked on either side of the door and she realized she was in some kind of storage closet, which would explain the fact that there were no windows.

Staring down at her phone, she turned, her fingers already beginning to dial the police, she would _make_ them listen to her this time, when her foot slipped in something and she found herself falling. Expecting to hit the hard floor, she was disoriented at first when she landed on something else. It took her a moment before she realized what it was, and then she wished she hadn't.

A body. She was lying on top of a body. Stifling the scream that threatened to emerge, she lifted her head slowly, the cell-phone she had dropped landing close enough for her to see by, and her eyes traveled up to... _no._

"Derek?" her voice was a shaky whisper. A plea. She lifted her hand to his face, but stopped short when she saw the blood covering her palm. She looked down. There was blood everywhere. Blood on the floor surrounding him, on his shirt, on his face. She choked down the sobs that threatened to overtake her. She couldn't help him if she was hysterical. She ignored the part of her that said he was beyond help. She swallowed hard and slid her hand to his chest, trying to feel a heartbeat, the rise and fall of breathing, anything.

"Derek?" she whispered again as a tear slid down her cheek. She couldn't feel anything. "_Please_?" she begged softly before moving to push herself away and reach for her cell-phone. She barely muffled her shriek as his hands shot out and grabbed her hips before she could get up. He took a deep breath, his chest shuddering before slowly opening his eyes.

"Derek?" she couldn't stop herself from smiling in sheer relief, forgetting where they were for the moment. His eyes were dazed, unfocused as they stared at her. "You're going to be fine," she whispered, nodding as she tried to convince herself of her own words. "I'm going to help you. I'll get you out of here."

"Lydia," his voice was a wet growl and she watched horrified as he seemed to choke on his own blood. His breath rattled in his chest as he breathed in slowly. He swallowed and blinked before managing a hoarse, "Run."

"What?" she choked out. He actually expected her to leave him like this? It would be the smart thing to do, and the rational side of her agreed with him, but she couldn't just leave him... she couldn't. "No," she shook her head.

"Run," he forced out again, struggling to stay conscious. "I can't – " eyelids slowly closing, he jerked them back open, his whole body tensing as he gritted out, "– can't protect you like this."

"And if I run, who's going to protect you?" she asked, once again reaching for her phone when a noise from outside made her freeze. A clicking noise. It was measured, like footsteps, but she'd never heard footsteps sound like that.

A low growl emerged from within the closet, sounding like thunder to her. She reached out and quickly covered Derek's mouth with her hand. He shook his head weakly, trying to dislodge her. His breath quickened, becoming agitated and she had to do something to calm him down before whatever it was out there heard him. Reaching out, she ran her fingers through his hair, leaning forward and pressing her forehead to his, she shushed him quietly. _Please stop_, she begged silently.

His fingers dug into her hips and she stifled a whimper. It felt like needles piercing her skin.

She could see a shadow moving in the small sliver of space beneath the door, could hear heavy breathing that wasn't theirs. Her own eyes slid closed in fear, her fingers trembling as they threaded through his hair.

Feeling a rumble begin in Derek's chest, she opened her eyes to try and stifle the growl before it could emerge but stopped. Stopped shaking. Stopped breathing. His eyes were open. Open and blue and _glowing. _His eyes were glowing... like her dream. But it wasn't possible. She was hallucinating. Projecting. Because if this was real, how had she known? She'd never seen...

She sucked in a gasping breath, feeling light-headed as she watched his eyes return to normal. She could no longer hear the heavy breathing from the other side of the door, could only assume whatever had been there was gone as Derek calmed somewhat beneath her.

She slowly slid her fingers from his mouth, watching him warily as he stared unblinking at her. She swallowed before breaking the silence with a whispered, "What are you?"

He jerked slightly but remained silent. She watched as he struggled to take in a breath, heard it rattling in his chest, and made her choice. It didn't matter. It didn't matter what he was, because he was hurt and bleeding and possibly dying, and he still tried to protect her. Tried to convince her to leave him to die so that she would be safe. The least she could do was not listen to him.

"We're getting out of here," she said, pushing herself up and kneeling beside him.

"Can't," he rasped, head nodding weakly.

"We are," she grabbed his hand and tugged, but he was dead weight and she could barely move him an inch. "Derek," cupping his face, she forced him to look at her. "If you stay here, you will die. I can't carry you. You have to help me. At least a little. Please. Please help me."

His eyes stared at her, but he made no move to show he understood her or even cared. She blew out a frustrated breath. "I will _not_ leave you here," she growled. "So either you help me, or we both stay here. Then whatever that thing is outside will probably find us and rip out my spleen. Is that what you want?" Her babbling abruptly cut off as his eyes flashed once more, and she could barely contain the urge to do a happy dance. If he wouldn't try to help himself, maybe he would try for her. "Please help me get out of here, Derek," she said, switching tactics. "I don't want to die in here. We need to go."

He groaned in pain and she held her breath as he slowly, slowly pulled himself upright. She drew his arm over her shoulder and fought to keep her knees from buckling as he leaned heavily on her. Making their way slowly to the door, she couldn't hear anything over his labored breathing and could only pray that whatever had been in the hall was no longer there.

Swinging the door open, they left the relative safety of the storage closet. She almost cried in relief when no attack seemed forthcoming, then almost cried again as they made their way down a hallway that now seemed a mile long. The door to the outside had seemed so much closer when she'd seen it before. Grabbing his hand, fistfuls of his jacket, anything to help her keep him upright, she whispered, "I know you're tired, but we're almost there. Ok? Please, just help me. Keep me safe for a little while longer. We're almost there."

Finally making it to the door, she shoved against it and let out a relieved sigh when it opened and they emerged outside. Taking a moment to get her bearings, she started toward Jackson's car, trying to remember if he'd left his keys in it or not. She wasn't certain, but she did know that, once she let Derek go, she wouldn't be able to get him up again. She had to be sure, because hot-wiring a car wasn't among her list of talents.

Glancing past Jackson's car, her gaze caught on a flash of black. Catching her breath, she said, "Derek?" He made a small noise of acknowledgment. "Where are your keys?"

"Car," he mumbled.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you," she whispered as she steered them toward his car.

She knew she should have been checking behind them, around them, scanning every shadow for whatever had been in that building with them, but she just didn't have the energy. It was all she could do to try and lower him gently into the passenger seat, even that proving to be too much and he groaned as he landed too hard.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," she said as she shut his door and ran around to the driver's side. Sliding in, she turned the key in the ignition and fought not to floor it as they left the parking lot. She didn't want to draw any more attention than was necessary. Who knew how fast that thing could run?

After putting distance between them and the school, she finally allowed herself to draw in a full breath. It shuddered in her throat and she had to force herself to take another deep breath instead of the shallow pants that wanted to escape. Her hands clenched on the steering wheel as she tried to still their shaking and not break down sobbing like she desperately wanted to.

Her gaze turned to Derek. His eyes were closed, his head lolling and his skin was a pale waxy color. Her eyes frantically searched his chest and she let out a relieved rush of air when she saw it rising and falling. Turning her gaze back to the road, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. What to do with him? He needed a doctor, but his eyes... was he even human? What would they do to him? No, she shook her head. No hospital. His place? No. She couldn't just drop him off. He couldn't take care of himself there, couldn't protect himself... it didn't even have a roof. She swallowed the semi-hysterical giggle that threatened to pop out at the thought. Ok, so his place was out. A hotel? She didn't have any money on her, and even if she did, what if someone saw her dragging a semi-conscious man covered in blood to her room? She'd already decided that prison wasn't for her, so a hotel was also a no-go. There really was only one place they could go. One place she knew would be safe. Glancing at him one more time, assuring herself of his continued breathing, she turned the wheel and headed toward her street.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. I didn't realize it had been so long since I updated. Also, I wasn't really feeling my song choice anymore which didn't help cause I listen to the song while I write to try and set the mood and what not. Anyway, I found another song so from here on out I'll probably be writing to _Safe and Sound_ by Taylor Swift and The Civil Wars. I don't generally care for Swift, but I love The Civil Wars and this song is so haunting and really just fits with the mood of this story. And I'm apparently very long-winded as this may well be the longest author's note I've ever written and I'm sorry about that too. Hehe Thanks for taking the time to review. I appreciate it.

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><p>She pulled into the garage and stepped out of the car, quickly walking over and hitting the button to close the door on the off chance one of the neighbors might be watching. Walking to the passenger side, she opened the door and stared. He looked like he was passed out, his head tilted to the side, almost resting on his shoulder.<p>

He was so pale.

Her hand reached out before she could think better of it and she let her fingers brush his jaw. His eyes flew open and she couldn't stifle a startled jerk, though she didn't drop her hand. She'd saved his life, after all. She decided she was allowed to touch him if she wanted to.

His eyes were clearer than they had been, the haze of pain that had covered them was receding, though not completely gone as he stared up at her. They remained unmoving for a moment, loath to break the silence.

Finally, she inhaled deeply and dropped her hand. "I need to get you inside, can you help me do that?" she asked.

He gave a short nod, eyes closing and jaw clenching as he gathered himself. She leaned down and again slung his arm over her shoulder as he pushed himself up while she pulled. He still leaned on her heavily as they made their way through the house toward the stairs, but she thought it seemed a little less than it had earlier.

"Where –" he took a shaky breath, "parents?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Not here. Out of town for a few days."

"Convenient," he ground out.

"Normal," she answered. "They take off when life gets to be _overwhelming _for them, or so they say," she huffed derisively. "Life apparently overwhelms them at least once a month. Not sure where they went this time," she shrugged. "As long as it gets them out of the house, right? I'm sure there's a note around here somewhere," she said absently, cutting herself off when she realized she was babbling and he probably didn't care about the vacationing habits of her mother and step-father. She kept her mouth closed and concentrated on helping him remain upright as they made their way slowly and painstakingly up the stairs.

Shoving her door open with her foot, she walked with him to her bed and helped him lower himself slowly onto it, barely giving a thought to her eight hundred thread-count sheets other than to decide that she'd probably have to burn them or something since she doubted the blood would come out of them completely.

She stared down at him, bloody and struggling for breath. He seemed too large for her bed, too large for her room. "What do I do?" she asked, reaching hesitantly for him with the half-formed thought in her mind of helping him take his jacket off.

He caught her wrists in his hands before she could touch him and she froze, her face entirely too close to his as she stared into his eyes and couldn't hold back the thought that she'd never seen anything more beautiful in her whole life. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, to wash the blood from his face, his hands, his body.

Her thoughts cut off as his hands tightened on her wrists, his nostrils flaring as he stared unblinking at her. A shiver worked its way up her spine, radiating out through her body. Her wrists trembled in his grasp and he blinked, his grip loosening as he sank down on the bed. "Sleep," he murmured wearily. "I just need sleep."

His eyes drifted shut and his breathing evened out. It seemed like only seconds to her and he was asleep. She carefully pulled out of his grasp, his hands relaxed now. Her own hands rubbed together absently as she looked at him. He fell asleep with her watching. Did that mean he trusted her? Or was he just too tired to care? Did she want him to trust her? Yes, she decided, she really did. And not just because it probably wouldn't end well for her if he didn't. She wanted him to tell her the truth, to tell her what he was beyond the half-formed idea in her head. She wanted him to trust her with the truth. She wanted to matter to him...

She gave herself a mental shake. She really had to stop thinking that way. It was irrelevant whether she mattered to him or not, as long as she rated high enough that he wouldn't try to, like, eat her or something. Her face flushed as that thought brought on a flood of mental images that she _really_ shouldn't be thinking of. Ever.

But she couldn't push them away as she stared down at him They only grew more vivid, more real until she could practically feel his hands and lips and tongue. She swayed on her feet, taking an almost involuntary step toward him before managing to stop herself. She was _not_ going to touch him. No matter how much she wanted to.

Scratching absently at her hand, she looked down and realized why her hands were itchy. They were covered in dried blood. Derek's blood. She shuddered as she realized just how much of his blood was on her. On her clothes, her hands. She couldn't stay like this.

Moving away from the bed, she walked to her bathroom and shut the door. Turning the water on, she stripped her clothes off and threw them on the floor, mentally consigning them to the fire along with her sheets. Stepping under the spray, she realized that she hadn't thought to lock the door. It probably wouldn't have mattered if she had. From what she'd seen, if being practically ripped open and losing more blood than should have been possible hadn't stopped him, she doubted the lock on her bathroom door would have given him pause. Still, she always locked her door. Even when she was the only one home.

She stared down at the pink-tinged water as it slid down the drain, watching as it started to run clear and contemplating the unlocked door. She wanted him to trust her, but did she trust him? Past experience with, well, practically everyone she knew told her she shouldn't, but he had driven her home, and told her she could come back, and tried to get her to leave him and save herself even though there was no guarantee that he wouldn't have died if she'd actually done it. He had been nice to her for no reason, and she had wanted to touch him for no reason other than the fact that she just wanted to. Not because she was afraid. Not because she wanted him to save her. No. It was just because she wanted to.

Turning the water off and stepping out, she couldn't suppress a giddy smile as she wrapped herself in a towel. This was the first time she could remember ever wanting something with no ulterior motive in mind. She just wanted... him.

Reaching for the nightgown on the back of the door, she drew it over her head and reached for the doorknob, stopping when she glimpsed herself in the mirror. Sleeveless white cotton that draped halfway to her knees, the words _virgin sacrifice_ ran through her mind before she scoffed at her reflection. "Melodramatic much, Lydia?" she mocked quietly. Besides, she hadn't been a virgin since... Shaking her head, she cut off her train of thought before opening the door.

He was still asleep, breathing still deep and even. He hadn't moved an inch. She stared at him as she walked around the bed, watching his face for any movement. A groan. A twitch of his eyelids. Anything. But there was nothing. The only movement was the rise and fall of his chest. She probably should have been surprised at the relief that nearly buckled her knees when she saw that he was still breathing, but she wasn't. She decided that relief at his continued existence was really the least weird thing that had happened that night.

Glancing out her window, she realized how late it was. Or early. The sun was beginning to rise and the events of the night were finally catching up with her as she yawned, unable to stifle it. Staring longingly at her bed, she reluctantly moved on from that fleeting idea. Just because she wanted to touch him didn't mean the feeling was mutual. He might not take waking up beside someone he didn't remember going to sleep with too well. She did trust him, at least until he gave her a reason not to, but that was no reason to be stupid. Caution was never a bad thing and she didn't have a death wish, but there was also no way she was sleeping on the floor either. Glancing at the chair in the corner of her room, she gave the bed a final forlorn look before walking over and sinking down onto the chair. Pulling her legs up, she curled into herself and watched him in the early morning light before her eyelids became too heavy to hold open and she let sleep take her.

* * *

><p>He came awake slowly, blinking in confusion for a moment at the unfamiliar surroundings. His fists clenched in agitation before a familiar scent hit him and he relaxed as memories from the night before washed over him.<p>

She didn't leave him. Even after he'd told her to. Even after she'd seen his eyes. She had to have known, had to have realized that he wasn't... normal. Still, she didn't leave him.

He swallowed, turning his head to find her with his gaze. The room was dim, the light from the setting sun fading, but he found her easily. She was curled up in a chair, her hair covering half of her face. His eyes stayed on her as he sat up, his stare tracing along her bare arms, her smooth legs.

He gingerly swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting still for a moment and assessing his now-healed injuries. His wounds were gone, only a slight pulling from newly healed flesh alerted him to their former presence. He was covered in blood, but none of it was new and – a growl worked its way up from his chest almost before he realized what he was smelling. Her blood. Her blood was on his hands.

His gaze shot to her as she jerked awake, startled by the deep growl that he forced himself to stifle as she stared warily at him. She was cautious, though not yet frightened and he knew he should stay where he was, but all he could smell was her blood and all he could see was her delicate skin ravaged by his claws in a fit of madness that he couldn't remember.

He tried to seem non-threatening as he rose from the bed and started toward her, knew he failed as her heartbeat quickened, her breath coming in shallow pants as she tried to sink further back into the chair. He wanted to tell her not to be afraid, that he wasn't angry with her, that he would never hurt her. But the words lodged in his throat as he tried to remember whether he already _had_ hurt her.

He couldn't seem to make his jaw unclench in order to ask the question he didn't want to know the answer to. Her heartbeat sounded in his ears and the scent of her fear coated the back of his tongue and he could only stare at her, his gaze roving over the parts of her he could see, searching for injuries and finding none.

Her hands were gripping the arms of the chair, her knuckles white and he knew his continued silence and rapt stare were doing nothing to alleviate her concerns. Still, he couldn't speak. Instead, he sank to his knees in front of her. He made no move to touch her, just stared into her eyes and tried to calm himself as her breathing and heartbeat gradually slowed.

"Did –" his voice rasped in his throat like sandpaper and he swallowed before trying again. "Did I hurt you?"

She stared at him, her brow wrinkling in confusion as a shaking, "What?" emerged from her.

"I can – I can smell your blood on my hands," he ground out, fists clenching. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head slowly, eyes never leaving his.

He wanted to believe her, but he had to know. "I can smell your blood," he repeated. He could feel the growl welling up in his throat, didn't try to stop it as it emerged with a harsh, "Tell me."

She jumped a little at the hard command, her voice shaky and stilted as she said, "It's nothing. Just – your... claws. You just – held me too tight."

He swallowed hard, his eyes closing momentarily, stomach clenching in fear. _Please_. "Show me," he said, watching as her gaze widened and a blush spread across her cheeks, traveling down her neck, her chest. His hands twitched slightly as he fought the urge to run his fingers along the fragile ridge of her collarbone.

"It's – it's really nothing," she said again, her voice shaking with apprehension.

His gaze snapped back to hers and he couldn't stop his eyes from flickering, couldn't stop the growl that ripped from his chest with a guttural, "Show. Me." Knew she was afraid once again, could smell it in her scent, see it in the way she trembled, but he had to know... had to make sure.

He could turn someone if the claws sank deep enough. He'd never done it, but knew it was possible and the thought of her with his _gift_ made him want to scream. He couldn't bear the thought of her undergoing the change, of enduring the pain he'd long since gotten used to. Couldn't bear to think of the arrows and bullets of hunters tearing her flesh. He did not want that for her and the fleeting thought crossed his mind that he would rather slit his own throat than subject her to it.

She moved slowly, bare feet lowering softly to the floor as she stood. He could see her shaking, could hear the racing of her heart and it once again reminded him of a hummingbird. He remembered their first meeting, remembered the feel of her as she struggled, the way she carried his scent. Even now, her shower hadn't washed him away completely. She still smelled of him, of his blood. A tremor of desire shook him and he swallowed hard, staring up at her.

She released a shaking breath, her hand clenching in the fabric of her nightgown before slowly raising one side of it. He watched as more of her pale leg came into view. His hands itched to shove her back in the chair, to pull her knees apart and lick a trail up the inside of her thigh, to bury his face between her legs.

_Fuck._

He closed his eyes, breathing deep as he struggled not to touch her. Not to fuck her until she screamed for him.

The rustle of the fabric sliding against her skin stopped and he opened his eyes, staring at her hip and the tiny marks that disappeared under the edge of her panties. His gaze narrowed on them as he sought to block out everything else. Reaching out slowly, his fingers brushed her skin as he edged the side of her panties down until he could see all of them.

A wave of relief hit him as he gently ran his fingers over them. They were small. He had barely touched her. Barely marked her. He wanted to lick them.

She trembled under his hand, her own hand losing its grip on her nightgown and it slid down and pooled around his wrist. His fingers ached as he tried to pull them away from her soft skin. He took a deep breath and – fuck. _Fuck_. She didn't smell of fear anymore. Her scent was deeper and richer and wet and sweet and his hand clenched in her nightgown, shaking as he tried to resist the urge to tear it from her.

His body trembled and it felt as though his free hand was made of lead as he lifted it, his fingers tangled in the fabric of her gown and he pulled her to him slowly. His breath left him in a shaking rush as his heated forehead pressed against the softness of her stomach. Even his toes clenched as a soft whimper escaped her.

He could feel her shaking fingers run through his hair, pulling gently as she tilted his head back. He stared up at her with eyes he knew were flickering and could do nothing to stop it as she fought for breath before uttering a whispered, "What are you?"

_Nothing before I found you_.

His throat ached to say the words, but he clenched his teeth. Rising slowly to his feet, he pressed closer, pushing her backward gently until her back hit the wall. Did she know? Telling her would put her in danger. So much danger. Still, it was all he could do not to speak. He wanted her to know him. To know what he was and still want him. "What am I, Lydia?" he asked instead, his voice a low growl.

Her hands fisted in his shirt, pushing softly against him as a shaky whisper left her, "The Beast of Gèvaudan."

He ran his hand down her leg, his fingers sliding against the sensitive underside of her knee before yanking her leg up and around his hip. Her gasping cry made him close his eyes and lean his forehead against hers as he fought the urge to drop to his knees again. She was so fucking wet. He didn't even have to touch her, he could smell it all around them. He wanted to tear his jeans open and slam into her, mark her, make her scream. But he needed her to say it first. His voice was a low, guttural growl as he repeated, "What am I, Lydia?"

She struggled to get the words out, her eyes wet as she stared at him, her voice small and trembling as she hesitated before saying, "A big wolf."

"Good girl," he growled before fitting his mouth over hers. His hand fisted in her hair, angling her head as she opened her mouth to him and he thrust his tongue inside.

Sweet. The word stuttered through his mind as his tongue moved past her lips, her teeth. Thrusting deep before sliding against the roof of her mouth. She was so sweet. He tilted her head further, kissed her deeper, growled in frustration when it wasn't enough. It wasn't _fucking_ enough. He needed more of her. Needed her closer. Around him. Beneath him. Hot and wet and tight and _begging_.

His other hand reached down, slid behind her knee and lifted. She cried out against his lips and her hands gripped his jacket as he ground against her. _Fuck._ He tore his mouth from hers and buried his face in her neck, breathing deep and trying to hold on to at least a sliver of control. But he couldn't. He had none left and the feel of her against him was driving him out of what was left of his mind.

He thrust closer to her and she flowered open to him as he ground against her clit, feeling her heat even through his jeans. Each thrust pushed the breath from her lungs in hitching gasps and it was the most beautiful fucking sound he'd ever heard. His eyes squeezed shut and he clenched his teeth as her heart sped up and her legs started to shake in his grasp.

"_Please_," her voice was frantic and gasping and pleading as she begged him, fucking _begged_ him, to make her come. He bit down on her shoulder, bruising her but not breaking the skin, to stifle the howl that instead emerged as a ragged growl as he thrust hard against her, his movements rough.

Her shaking increased, her breath stopping completely for one heartbeat, two, three, before a sobbing, desperate cry of, "_Derek_," was torn from her as she shook and cried and trembled in his grasp and he changed his earlier thought because _that_ was the most beautiful fucking sound he'd ever heard.

Her body was still shuddering, her legs practically vibrating in his hands and he could feel her wetness soaking his jeans, his dick. Her shaking fingers released their grip on his jacket and slid up to run through his hair, fisting gently and bringing his head up to hers, she stared at him with tear-bright eyes before bringing him down to her and kissing him gently, sweetly. She brushed her lips against his softly before sliding her tongue into his mouth and finding his. No one had ever kissed him like this, ever touched him like this. As if she cared for him, about him, and it was almost enough to make him forget how very much he wanted to be inside of her, surrounded by her. Almost.

But already he felt the beast rising as he kissed her harder, lowering her legs to the ground and fighting against a triumphant smirk when her knees trembled, refusing to support her for a moment. His hands encircled her waist, holding her up as she glanced up at him through her lashes before quickly dropping her gaze to his chest. Even through the flush of her orgasm, he could see a fiery blush suffusing her face and he bit back a laugh. He'd just practically fucked her against a wall, and still she blushed for him. It was... adorable. She was adorable.

And he officially sounded like a pussy.

He gave himself a mental shake, trying to think of all the reasons he shouldn't be here. He wasn't prepared for this. He had too many responsibilities. The Alpha. His family. The weight of their ghosts crushed him and he could not abandon them, even now. He had to be strong, and she would make him weak. Even as the thought crossed his mind that he needed to leave, had to leave, his hand lifted and he ran the back of his fingers across the line of her jaw. His gaze dropped to her lips, swollen and bruised and... bloody. Her lips were bloody.

Grasping her face in his hand, he tilted it up to him. She stared up at him in confusion. He couldn't taste her blood, couldn't smell it. It couldn't be hers so – _fuck_. The blood that had been on his face earlier... His blood. It was his blood staining her lips.

His hand tightened on her face and she made a small noise of protest as she watched him warily, but he barely heard her. His eyes focused on her lips as he leaned in closer, his shuddering breaths ghosting over her lips, followed by his tongue. He pulled her bottom lip into his mouth, sucked on it and barely resisted the urge to bite down. To mingle their blood. To mark her with his bite and his scent so that others would know that she was fucking _his_.

His mouth moved over hers roughly, tongue thrusting deep. Her hands lifted to his chest and made a hesitant move to push against him, but he grabbed her wrists and held them against the wall. All he could smell and taste and feel was how much he wanted her. Needed her. Would lose his fucking mind if he didn't have her. It was anathema to him that she might not feel the same.

She tore her mouth from his and turned her head to the side. His lips moved to the fragile column of her neck as she managed to rasp out a shaking, "Wait."

He growled against her skin, everything in him urged him to keep going. She was his. _His_. Why the fuck should he stop? But he could smell the acrid scent of her fear shooting through the desire and he groaned harshly, scraping his teeth across the sensitive skin behind her ear before lifting his head.

"What?" he couldn't help the harsh growl of his voice and she trembled against him. He felt the anger rising in him, rivaling the desire and he struggled to rein it in. To control it. She was so fucking breakable.

"Stop," she breathed, her voice small. He doubted he would have heard her if he'd been human.

"You want me," he ground out, anger flaring in his voice, his eyes. "I can smell it. Five minutes ago you were fucking _begging _me to make you come." He leaned in closer, caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit down gently before whispering, "And I did. And you fucking loved it."

She said nothing, her eyes fixed on his chest and he could feel his own eyes flickering in mingled anger and desire, his hands tightening around her wrists as he growled, "Is this a fucking game to you, Lydia?"

"No," the word flew from her mouth and she finally lifted her gaze to his. She shrank back at the anger in his, tears trembling on her lashes as she stared at him and said in a small voice, "I just... I just wanted to make sure you would stop if I asked you to. I just wanted to make sure," her voice broke and she lowered her gaze as a tear spilled down her cheek.

He couldn't swallow. Couldn't move. Couldn't fucking breathe.

His mouth felt like it was full of ashes, his chest aching. It felt as though she had reached inside him and ripped his fucking heart out and it hurt worse than when the Alpha had tried to tear his damned guts out.

He couldn't look at her. His gaze lifted to where his hands still held her wrists in a grip so tight his knuckles were white. He dropped them and stumbled backward, bile rising in his throat, choking him. He wanted to fall to his knees, to beg her forgiveness. He did neither.

Moving as fast as he could on shaking legs, he stumbled down the stairs, trying to block out the sounds from upstairs as she slid to the floor. Unable to move fast enough, her sobbing reached his ears as he ran from the house and out into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Sinus infections are evil. Pure evil. And it lingered forever. It's just not easy to type when your head is swimming. The new season has started (yay!), but I've decided not to watch it until I finish with this story. Maybe _The In-Between _as well. Just trying to give myself some extra motivation to update faster. If, however, our favorite couple happens to share a scene together and someone feels the need to drop me a line about it, well that would be just awesome. Also, sorry if you tried to review and couldn't. The anonymous filter thing was turned on, but I cut it off. I so wish I were one of those authors who can write twenty pages per chapter. Alas, I have yet to get there. Each chapter, though, is always longer than the last. Perhaps by the time I'm done, I'll have those twenty pages that have thus far eluded me. Don't drink and drive! Song is still _Safe and Sound, _and I don't own it or the characters. And thank you all so much for the reviews! It's so nice of you to take the time to do it and I appreciate every single one!

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><p>She walked down the halls of Beacon Hills High, smiling at the right people and ignoring the others, but not really seeing anything. <em>He was gone. <em>It was the only thought she could hold onto and it replayed itself in a constant loop. She felt as though she was wrapped in cotton, insulated from the world. A sleepwalker going through the motions.

Until arms wrapped around her and she nearly screamed before realizing with shock that it was Allison. "Lydia! Are you ok? I was so worried about you," Allison's voice penetrated the haze surrounding her and she shook her head, staring in confusion as the other girl pulled back. "Everything was so confusing when the police got there and everyone was running around and then my dad showed up and practically threw me in the car and I tried calling your phone, but you didn't answer. I wanted to come over and check on you, but my dad had me on lock-down. I'm lucky he let me go to the bathroom on my own," she rolled her eyes before continuing, "Anyway, where did you go the other night? You disappeared."

She stared at Allison, unsure and a little overwhelmed. She hadn't really considered the other girl a friend. Not a real one, anyway. They talked. They hung out. They occasionally gave each other advice. But she had always assumed it was more out of convenience than any genuine caring. Now, though, she was beginning to change her mind. Allison had been worried about her. Truly worried. It made some of the crushing haze lift and she smiled at her, a small smile but genuine, as she struggled to think of a plausible lie.

"I got separated," she said, deciding to stay as close to the truth as possible. "I hid in a closet until I thought it was safe, and then I made it outside and I," she shrugged, "I ran. I just ran. When I got home I crashed. Completely dead to the world," she forced out a laugh. "I must have slept for twenty-four hours straight. I never even heard my phone ring."

Allison nodded and smiled, her eyes still full of concern as she said, "I'm just glad you're ok."

She smiled back at her as a couple walked by them talking furtively to each other and she stiffened, face paling as a whispered name caught her attention. The hall spun crazily for a moment and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them to find Allison staring at her in confusion.

"Are you all right?"

"Why were they talking about Derek Hale?" she asked, too shaken to attempt subtlety.

"You haven't heard?" Allison asked, continuing before she could answer. "He was the one chasing us the other night. Scott said he killed the janitor."

"No, he didn't," she blurted out before she could stop herself, biting her lip as Allison frowned at her.

"What?"

"I just mean," she began, words falling out in a rush as the other girl looked at her with raised brows, "why would he do that? What would be the point? Why would he chase a bunch of teenagers around a school in the middle of the night? Why would he kill the janitor? It doesn't make any sense."

"He's psychotic, Lydia," Allison continued to stare at her, gaze slightly bewildered. "He doesn't have to make sense."

"Maybe," she shrugged noncommittally before noticing movement behind the other girl's shoulder and nodding, "I think Jackson wants to talk to me."

Allison glanced behind her then turned back, "I called him last night when I couldn't reach you and he said he went by your house and you were fine. Otherwise I would have had to have found a way around dad-patrol and hot-wired a car or something," she laughed.

"I didn't see Jackson last night," she stared at Allison, her brows knitted together in confusion.

"Oh," the other girl looked confused for a moment before saying, "Well, he never actually said he saw you. He said he saw your lights on and that you were fine. I just assumed that meant he had talked to you."

"No," she shook her head, grateful for once that chivalry was apparently dead and buried, at least as far as Jackson was concerned. "I've gotta go," she said and rolled her eyes, her words dripping with sarcasm, "Prince Charming awaits."

Allison gave a small laugh and said, "Ok. Call me later?"

"I will," she said before walking away, smiling to herself when she realized that she actually meant it.

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><p>Her hands trembled as she reached into the cabinet, shoving glasses out of the way before closing her fingers around the neck of a bottle and yanking it out. Staring blindly at the contents, she frantically twisted the cap off and raised it to her lips, swallowing as much as she could before the burn turned to pain and forced her to stop. Lowering the bottle and gasping for breath, she stared at the kitchen floor and struggled to keep the liqueur from coming back up.<p>

He'd broken up with her. Told her he was dropping the dead weight in his life and kicked her out of it like so much garbage. She sucked in a ragged breath and raised the bottle to her lips again. He'd broken up with her, demanded his key back and now she had no refuge. None. Nothing. Pulling in deep breaths as she lowered the bottle, her fingers clenched around it as she struggled to think. _Think._ She had to think of something...

But there was nothing and no one. There was no one. _He was gone._ Now Jackson was, too. Maybe Allison, but what would she tell her? They were barely friends, had only known each other for a little while. What if she didn't believe her?

_Who would believe you?_

She let out a choked sob and stared out the window. The sun was setting, it would be dark soon and her mother would be back any time now, and he would be with her. She couldn't be here when they got back. She couldn't do this anymore. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't. She couldn't. She couldn't...

She had to think of something. They would be pulling into the garage soon and –

A startled breath jerked her head up. The garage. His car. His car was still in the garage. She had to get it out. It couldn't be here when they got back. Forcing her trembling legs to move, she made her way to his car, flipping the switch to open the garage door before yanking on his door handle and sliding in. She stifled a hysterical giggle when she realized that she was still clutching the bottle in one hand. Maybe she would get pulled over, the thought ran through her head as she backed up carefully and decided that even that was preferable to staying in her house for one second longer.

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><p>He stared out the window at the moon overhead, muscles bunched and aching as he fought against its pull. His earlier fight with Scott had done little to distract him from the near constant itching just beneath his skin. He wanted to let go, to run, to find her...<p>

He clenched his fists, eyes searching the woods and finding nothing. The cops had already been here twice tonight while he watched from the shadows of the trees. It was unlikely they would come again this soon. Still, he needed to be gone by morning.

His shoulders tensed as he heard a familiar car drive up outside. The brief hope that maybe Scott had somehow brought it back was disabused almost immediately as he heard light footsteps walking up to the door. He hadn't thought to tell Scott to get his car back and she wouldn't have known to. There was only one person it could be.

He watched the doorknob turn and tried to center himself, taking a deep breath only to be brought up short as she practically fell through his doorway. Giggling to herself, he heard a soft, "Oops," escape her as she gripped the doorknob and pulled herself upright before slamming the door behind her.

He smelled the fumes before noticing the bottle and his eyes narrowed at her, "What the hell do you think you're doing, Lydia?"

Her head jerked in his direction and she smiled brightly at him before chirping, "I brought your car back to you."

"You're drunk," he growled, stalking toward her as her smile dropped and she stumbled away from him, keeping distance between them as they circled each other warily. "You shouldn't have driven here like that. You shouldn't have driven _anywhere_," he ground out.

"But I couldn't let them see it," she said. "And you just left it there," her brow furrowed, "You left..." her voice trailed off, her expression lost and unsure and he clenched his jaw as she blinked and brought her gaze back to him, taking in his anger. "Your car's fine," she gave a frantic shake of her head, "I didn't wreck it or anything."

"I don't give a _fuck_ about the car," he spat out before stopping and taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Control it. He stared at her, watching as she fidgeted nervously, looking as though she couldn't decide whether to stay or go. "You shouldn't be here," he forced out while everything in him begged her not to go.

"But you told me I could come back," her voice wavered as she stared at him, small and unsure and _fuck_, he just wanted to hold her. "You told me," she said, her voice breaking and her eyes wounded and accusing at the same time and he felt the knife she had slipped between his ribs during their last encounter twist a little deeper.

"You lied to me," she said, her voice shaking, but with anger this time. He could smell it beneath the booze, see it in the way her fingers tightened around the bottle. "You're a liar," she narrowed her eyes at him. "Just like the rest of them."

He could feel his own anger rising. She had no right. No right to come into his house, into his life, and make him feel as if he had done something wrong. As if he had failed her. He owed her nothing, he told himself, but the hollow ache in his chest made a liar of him. He started toward her slowly, but again she backed away.

"You take what you want and then you leave," she said, her voice and her eyes slicing him to ribbons "And you never once look back," she glared at him and he clenched his teeth as he watched her tremble with rage. "You're just like them," she hissed at him before raising the bottle and flinging it at his head.

He ducked reflexively, too shocked by her action to notice how poor her aim was. He heard the glass shatter behind him but didn't bother to look. His eyes stayed on her as she leaned back against the wall, her gaze daring him to do something. And he wanted to. _Fuck, _he wanted to.

His feet were moving almost before he realized what he was doing. She stared up at him as he lifted his arms, hands resting against the wall on either side of her. He drew in a shuddering breath, the smell of alcohol and lavender making him dizzy and he swallowed hard as he looked down at her. Her hands reached out, clutching his shirt and pulling him closer. And he let her.

He made no move to touch her, only stared at her forehead, watching as his breath stirred strands of her hair. She tugged on his shirt, pulling him down to her and he hesitated, pulling back for a moment, feeling her breath hit his lips before closing the distance between them. Breathing in her shallow gasp, his lips closed over hers and she opened to him immediately. Her tongue sliding against his as she pulled him closer, pressing against him until there was nothing between them but clothing.

She bit at his bottom lip, sucking on it as he swallowed a growl, fingers digging into the wall behind her. She pulled back, her shallow breaths ghosting over his lips before crashing into him again, her lips moving almost frantically against his own as shaking hands descended to pull at the button on his jeans.

His brows drew together in a frown as he grabbed her wrists, bringing them up to her chest and pushing her back slightly as she stared up at him, confused and... afraid? What the hell? Why did she smell afraid?

"What?" she asked. Her voice trembled with desire and fear, though it was mainly fear and he fought the urge to shake her, to demand to know why she was afraid... and hope that it wasn't him. "Don't you want this?" she tried to reach for him again, but he held her still.

"Why are you doing this, Lydia?" he asked, watching as she swallowed and stared at the floor before raising her eyes to his.

"I– I thought you wanted this," her eyes pleaded with him as a shaky, "Don't you?" left her.

He didn't answer as he stared at her, still trying to understand the fear in her scent that was growing stronger with each passing second. She had wanted him. He knew it. Could smell it. And he had done his best not to frighten her, had hesitated even to touch her after the way their last encounter had ended. Why was she afraid?

"You don't want me..." her voice trailed off and she pulled away from him, turning away and stumbling slightly as she wrapped one arm around her waist and let the other rest against the wall. Walking slowly away from him she whispered, "You don't want me. You don't want me..."

"Lydia," he watched as she halted, but she didn't turn around and he could hear her heart speed up, the smell of despair mingling with fear and he was reminded too much of the first night she had come here. She had been running then too, running from something and he needed to know what it was. He _had_ to know.

"There's no one," she went on as if she hadn't heard him. "No one and nothing. You don't want me," she sagged against the wall. "And Jackson doesn't want me."

"What?" he growled, hands clenching as she finally turned to look at him. "You're here because that _boy_," he snarled the word, "doesn't want you anymore?" She blinked and frowned at him, shaking her head but he didn't care. He wasn't going to be some fucking replacement because she got her ego bruised. "Leave," he ground out. She opened her mouth but he cut her off with a sharp, "Now."

"This isn't about– "

"I said leave," he interrupted before turning to go, idly wondering what the hunters would do if pieces of a teenage boy were discovered, then deciding he didn't care. He was going to rip his fucking liver out. His progress was halted when a shoe sailed by his head. He stopped, body tense in disbelief as he turned slowly.

"You're such an idiot," she hissed at him, eyes narrowed and one hand clutching her other shoe. "You think this is about Jackson?"

"Don't you dare," he ordered softly when she raised the shoe. She paused a moment, her breathing labored, before letting it fly straight at his head. Her aim had improved, he noted as he ducked.

He moved toward her, his earlier resolve to not touch her forgotten as her flying stilettos made it abundantly clear he wasn't the reason for her fear, and his eyes flashed as she glanced frantically from side to side for something else to throw. He caught her wrists before she could find anything and forced them back, holding them against the wall with a growled, "Stop."

She twisted against him, struggling to escape his grasp. He held her easily, feeling the fragile bones of her wrists beneath his hands and watching as her body strained against him, her breath becoming ragged. He felt his own breathing speed up as she pressed against him, but not from exertion. She tired quickly, but he didn't release her as she shook her hair out of her face and glared up at him. "You're such a coward," she spat out.

The buzzing beneath his skin increased until it was almost painful and his eyes narrowed, staring down at her as the sound of her labored breathing filled the air. Her breaths hit his face, the smell of her all around him and he breathed deep, pulling her into him. She was everywhere. In his lungs. In his veins. And he couldn't get her out. He had to get her out. He wasn't sure if the, "_Stop_," that was torn from his throat was directed more at her or himself.

"No," she gasped out, straining against him again, twisting in vain before collapsing against the wall. "You're a coward," she said again. "You hide here in this house that's barely a house at all. It's more of a mausoleum than anything," his hands tightened around her wrists as he tried to ignore the truth in her words. "You stare and you brood and you lurk," she continued, "but you hardly talk to people. You're alone," her voice halted and her gaze softened as she looked up at him. "You're so alone," her voice broke slightly and she shook her head before giving a hesitant, "You don't have to be."

"And what about you?" he shot back, bitterness and anger warring in his chest because she was offering him something that he couldn't have. Shouldn't even want.

"What?" she stared up at him, confused and sad and hopeful. He swallowed hard against the bile threatening to choke him.

"This," he said, dropping her wrist and grabbing her chin, his thumb swept over her bottom lip, removing what was left of her lip gloss. "You think I don't know a mask when I see one?" She tried to break free again but he held her still. "You laugh and you smile and you pretend," he held her chin as she tried to jerk away, "but you're hiding just as much as I am. And it doesn't matter where you go or who you talk to, you're alone too. They don't even know you."

He released her and stepped back as she stumbled away from him. She wrapped her arms around her waist, taking a shaky breath as she turned to face him, pale and trembling and trying not to cry. Her misery was palpable and he felt his anger crumble, couldn't hold on to it anymore and didn't even try as the terrifying thought passed through his mind that he would forgive her anything.

"If they really knew me, they wouldn't like me," she whispered, eyes wet and voice shaking.

"Then they're stupid," his dry retort pulled a small half-smile from her, but she remained silent, arms still wrapped protectively around her stomach.

"You wouldn't like me," she said, losing the battle with her tears as they slid down her cheeks.

"I would," he said, clenching his fists as a hoarse, "I do," left him. She shook her head and he held himself back from her when all he wanted was to yank her close. But she was fragile, so fucking fragile and he'd always been good at breaking things.

"You won't b-believe me," she stuttered as her trembling increased, misery surrounding her like a blanket. "You'll think I'm l-lying," she pulled in a shaking breath. "That's what liars do, remember?" she threw his words from their first meeting back at him and they found their mark. His chest ached with the memory and if he could have gone back he would have ripped his own tongue out before saying them to her.

"Tell me the sky is red, Lydia. Or the clouds are green," he held her gaze and ground out, "I'll believe you."

"And if you do," her breath came in panting sobs, her heartbeat racing as she shook her head frantically at him, "you'll never touch me again. You won't want to," she bent slightly at the waist as if in physical pain, hair falling down and hiding her face from him as she took desperate gulps of air. "I'm scared," she sobbed, sinking to her knees as her trembling legs refused to hold her up any longer.

The ache in his chest blossomed into pain, a clenching, grinding pain that had him dropping to his knees in front of her because he couldn't _not_ touch her. He couldn't.

His hands shook as he reached out and slid them along her cheeks, fingers threading in her hair. Her hands came up and clutched his wrists as she gasped and tried to control the sobs that were stealing her breath.

"Look at me," he rasped, his throat tight as she raised panic-stricken eyes to his. "You're safe, Lydia," his thumbs stroked her temples. "You're safe and I'll fix it. Whatever it is, I swear I'll fix it. Breathe," he growled as she drew in a shaking breath. "Just breathe," he said, pulling her closer, his lips brushing her forehead with a whispered, "Breathe for me, baby."

She leaned into him, her hands clutching fistfuls of his shirt as the sound of her ragged breathing filled his ears. He held her head against his chest with one hand, stroking the hair back from her temple while the other hand smoothed over her back. He rocked slowly back and forth, a tiny movement that seemed to help as her breathing finally evened out and her constant shivers slowed.

"I'm so tired," she whispered into the silence and he tightened his hold on her. She lifted her head and looked up at him, pain and sadness and hope in her eyes as she gave a hesitant, "Can I stay?" He gave a short nod, acknowledging to himself that he would have given her anything in that moment had she asked it of him.

Her head dropped back to his chest and he glanced around them. It was too open down here, too exposed. If the hunters decided to pay him a visit, he needed time to react. And he needed her out of sight. What they would do to her if they found out about her... his jaw clenched at the thought.

He shifted, preparing to stand. Her hands tightened their grip on his shirt and she looked up at him, panic in her eyes and her voice as she said, "Don't go. Please."

"I'm not," he assured her, smoothing back a strand of hair that had fallen over her face. "We're moving," he motioned toward the stairs and she blinked at them with a soft, "Oh."

He stood, keeping his arms around her and pulling her up with him. She leaned heavily against him, body trembling with exhaustion as she tried to get her footing. "I don't think I can," she gave a small laugh of disbelief as her shaking legs refused to support her, his arms around her the only reason she hadn't fallen back to the floor.

"You don't have to," he said, voice thick with emotion as he slid one arm beneath her knees and lifted. "I can," he said, making his way up the stairs as she lay exhausted and limp in his arms.

He made his way to a back room that had been left relatively unscathed by the fire and set her down on a pile of blankets that served as his makeshift bed. She looked around her with dazed eyes before turning back to him with a softly bewildered, "You sleep here?"

"I don't really sleep much," he shrugged as she blinked at him, swaying from exhaustion.

"Me neither," she gave him a half-smile, staring at him for an endless moment before reaching out and grasping his hand. She pulled him closer, maneuvering them so that her back was to him as she pulled him down with her.

He remained quiet and let her manipulate him as she pulled his arms around her waist and clasped his hands to her stomach, her fingers threaded through his. They lay in silence, the moon through the window their only light and he found the pull of it easier to bear with her near. He listened as her breathing evened out and he thought for a moment that she would fall asleep until her voice broke through the quiet.

"I was eleven when my parents separated," she said, keeping her face turned toward the window and her voice carefully even, though he could feel her body trembling softly. "I didn't take it very well," she gave a humorless laugh. "It wasn't anything too terrible," she shrugged, "but it was the most I could do at eleven years old. I screamed, I yelled, I fought with them constantly. Nearly every word out of my mouth was a lie," she gave a hollow laugh. "I shoplifted and made sure I got caught. There was no point unless they found out about it, right?" her voice was bitter, shaking with it, and she paused to take a deep breath, "I did everything I could to make their lives miserable. And it worked. I think they must have hated me by the end, at least a little. But that was fine with me, because I hated them too."

Her trembling increased and she paused, fingers tightening around his as she took a shaky breath. He brought her closer to him as she continued, "My father... sometimes I wonder if I hadn't done all of that, if I hadn't tried so hard to punish them, then maybe he would have wanted me with him. Maybe everything would have been different..." she trailed off, lost in thought for a moment before giving a small jerk, bringing her focus back to the present. "But he didn't want me. So I stayed with my mother, and we barely talked. Every time she looked at me, all I could see was disappointment and I knew she wouldn't have taken me either if she'd had a choice. I knew it," her voice wavered and she stopped, took a deep breath and continued, "It went on like that for a while, both of us trying our best to pretend the other didn't exist, then – " she broke off and swallowed hard, pulling in another breath before forcing out, "then my mom met Frank."

Her body shivered violently for a moment before she brought it under control and he clenched his teeth to hold back the desperate '_Stop'_ that was lodged in his throat. He had wanted to know this. He _did _want to know this. But it was going to change everything. Change him and he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready for this.

"I hated him on sight," she went on. "Not because of anything he did. I just had that hope, even after everything, that I guess most kids have, that my parents would eventually get back together, and he was in the way. Nothing I said or did got rid of him, though. And believe me I tried, but nothing worked. Sometimes I think my mother kept him around just to spite me," her voice trailed off before saying, "But then she married him."

Her trembling increased and he took a deep breath, trying to steel himself against her next words as she said, "I was almost thirteen the first time he touched me." She paused to draw in a shuddering breath and he fought not to howl at the pain ripping through his chest. "He didn't get very far because I threw up all over him," she swallowed back a sob. "It didn't happen again for a while and I thought maybe that would be it," she gave a frantic shake of her head, "but it wasn't." A small, anguished sound emerged from her throat and she pulled her knees up, trapping their hands against her stomach as she fought for breath.

His fingers tightened around hers, his body vibrating, muscles shaking as he forced himself to stop the change that threatened to rip through him with every breath. He wouldn't leave her. Couldn't leave her. But the fact that someone had hurt her, and that person was still breathing, made him clench his teeth around a scream of rage. He buried his face against the back of her neck as he fought to take deep breaths, fought to breathe at all when all he wanted was blood and tearing flesh and snapping bones. And he would have them, he promised himself as he exhaled with a low growl. He would have them.

He pressed his hands tighter against her stomach and rocked them slowly, whether to stop her trembling or his own he didn't know. Both, he decided as her breathing finally slowed and she continued, "I tried to tell my mom, but I did my job of making her miserable a little too well. She wouldn't believe me after everything I'd done. The way she looked at me," she shuddered, pain dripping from every word and he silently added another name to his list, "like I was nothing but a liar." She shook her head slightly, "If my own mother didn't believe me, why would anyone else? They wouldn't have believed me. They wouldn't have cared..."

He swallowed a growl as her voice trailed off. He cared. He cared that she had been hurt, that she had no one to help her, that she had been alone. He cared that they didn't protect her. They should have _fucking_ protected her. But they didn't, and he cared. He cared. And they would too by the time he was done with them.

He calmed himself as the sound of her heart filled his ears and he counted the beats as it slowed gradually to a normal pace until she broke the silence, "Jackson was just – " she shrugged, "I thought he would be my escape. And he was sometimes. A reason to leave the house, to just go somewhere else." She paused before whispering, "I don't love him. I never have. But he was better than the alternative."

She fell silent, too emotionally and physically drained to continue. He listened as her breathing evened out and she began to drift off. He lifted his head and she jerked, fingers tightening on his as she stared up at him through dazed eyes. "Don't go," her sleep-filled voice washed over him and he swallowed hard, giving her a sharp nod when his voice refused to work. Her eyes drifted closed. "Stay with me," she sighed on a sleepy exhale. "Just stay," her whisper trailed off as sleep pulled her under.

He stared at her profile, his eyes trailing over her from the top of her red hair to the tips of her small pink toes and he wondered how anyone could ever hurt her. But they had. He felt the beast stirring in him, control slipping as his fangs lengthened and his eyes flashed. A low growl rumbled in his chest as she slept on, exhausted and oblivious. She would probably never awaken should he choose to go. He could be done and back to her before morning. But she had asked him to stay, when she had asked so little of him at all, and he couldn't leave her.

He struggled to return the beast to its cage, unable to completely but soothing himself with promises of tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would have blood and pain and screams. And it would be slow. And it would be painful. And it would be sweet. He breathed deep, surrounded by the scent and feel of her as he allowed himself to relax, eyes fixed on the light of the moon through the window as he waited for morning.


End file.
